


Misfit

by Missing_Intestines_18



Category: Naruto
Genre: Acceptance, Anger, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missing_Intestines_18/pseuds/Missing_Intestines_18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending a lot of time alone with his thoughts, Kisame's frustration with his unusual appearance becomes overwhelming. Zetsu changes from comrade to comforter... and perhaps something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cracking

**Author's Note:**

> Shit. I haven't written a Naruto fanfic since middleschool, and those are laughable. Seriously, 2nd person with OCs? Akatsuki members that play Halo? Mike Rowe form Dirty Jobs killing a shark who happens to be Kisame's cousin? I'd love to share this shit, but Quizilla, the site I posted these masterpieces to, was taken down a while ago :/ Ah, well. At least I have all my notebooks.
> 
> It feels weird to be writing this fandom again, but I was suddenly inspired and find the internet's lack of angsty Kisame disturbing. I probs haven't been looking hard enough though.
> 
> Considering how shitty my last Naruto fics were, I'm hoping this one is okay.
> 
> Dedicated to one of my besties, Kayla, and my kitty Gray. My beautiful muses <3
> 
> Enjoy and gimme feedback!

Kisame drummed his fingers against the worn table, glaring at the window.

Nearly half the Akatsuki was currently holed up in an old hunting cabin in the middle of a forest near where the Land of Lightning met the sea for an indeterminate amount of time, and after a week and a half of waiting, Kisame was becoming stir crazy. There were only so many push-ups one can do, only so many sit-ups, only so many time one can paint their nails…

Really, what was Pein thinking?

_We’re sitting ducks._

Zetsu’s surveillance had deemed this little two-bedroom cottage a good safe house. The owner was a retired Chunin in his 60s with a bad knee. Despite his injury, he often trekked from Kumogakure for a weekend of fishing and hunting with his friend, another older Shinobi. Conveniently, both were widowers with no children.

They were easily killed when Kisame and the others—Itachi, Zetsu, Deidara, and Sasori—arrived. It was the last time since they arrived that Kisame had truly smiled.

 _This is stupid,_ Kisame thought. The Akatsuki was relatively nomadic, save for their base in Amegakure, and even then the base was rarely occupied by anyone but Pein and Konan for more than a week or so. Teams kept moving to avoid suspicion or gather intelligence or pursue out a target.

Of course, protections had been placed around the cabin—alerts, traps, genjutsu—but they didn’t guarantee their invulnerability. The only one who seemed to share this view was Deidara. The others hadn’t said much.

Kisame’s skin itched. It had been nearly a month since he had had the opportunity to swim. He’d thought that, being in a country with hundreds of miles of coastline, that he would have a chance after he and Itachi’s mission had been completed, but Zetsu had herded them and Deidara and Sasori, who happened to be nearby, to this stupid little cabin on Pein’s orders even before they had finished.

“He said the risk of detection was too high and it’s best to lay low for a while,” Zetsu had explained apologetically.

The cabin was small but cluttered with old furniture and photographs and the stuffed bodies of animals the owner had killed. It smelled a bit musty and, despite cleaning up, there was a faint coppery scent from the hunters’ blood that had seeped into the rough wood floor. It was one of the few times Kisame had wished he had killed cleaner.

It was hot too, and they had been forbidden from going outside just in case tracker nins were out prowling. The windows were old and only opened four or five inches. Once in a while a breeze would roll in carrying the smell of salt and sand and when it did the gills on his shoulders sucked feebly at the air and made his throat dry up. He had reduced himself to drinking water mixed with table salt, but it wasn’t the same. He found himself wishing the cabin had a bath instead of a shower so he could soak himself with his artificial seawater.

He stood and strode through the open door into the living room, and sat heavily on the sagging sofa.

In the northern corner was a patch of dirt. Zetsu had torn up the floorboards so he could enter and exit the cabin easily, as he was often tracking and acted as a liaison between the higher ups and the four trapped in the cabin. Kisame envied him and his freedom and his active role. He was so sick of sitting on his ass and breathing dusty air.

“Bored, hm?”

He looked up. Deidara was sprawled in an armchair, one leg thrown over the side. His bangs were pinned back so he could read _Waterfowl of the Southeast._ Though he had never been much of an intellectual, Kisame was thankful for the numerous books lying around.

Kisame scowled. “Staring out the window has lost its appeal.”

Deidara turned away from his book, peering at his fellow criminal with his usual smirk. “Why don’t you explore your artistic abilities?”

“Artistic abilities?” Kisame repeated with a bark of laughter. “All I’m good for is killing. Perhaps I could paint a wall, but I assure you it wouldn’t be with conventional paint.”

“Hm. You can always learn. It’s cathartic, you know.” As Deidara spoke, he dropped the book onto his lap and reached into the pouch at his hip, drawing out a small lump of clay. He tossed it from hand to hand before one of the mouths on his hands snagged it between its teeth. “I could teach you the basics, un. I’ll even give you a discount because you’re okay company.”

Kisame snorted. “You’re too kind, but I’ll have to pass.”

The blonde pursed his lips. “Your loss.”

His hand-mouth spat out a tiny bird. Deidara flipped it up in the air and it exploded with a decent _snap._

The left door on the wall opposite Kisame opened a bit and Itachi poked his head out.

“Do you mind?” he said, his usual cool tone disrupted by a hint of irritation.

Deidara smiled. “My apologies.”

Itachi gave him a piercing look but retreated back into the room and closed the door.

He turned back to Kisame. “What’s he up to in there, hm?”

Kisame shrugged. “I don’t know. Meditating, most likely. He does that once in a while, guess it’s a way for him to pass the time. But he could be brushing his hair or jerking off for all I know. All I’m sure of is that I’m not allowed in there until he says otherwise. Selfish prick,” he added in a mutter.

Deidara nodded understandingly. “Sasori no Danna is the same way. Though I know he’s just making dolls in there. He’s dismantled the nightstand already and I think the dresser is next. I suppose he doesn’t want me critiquing him. Not that I want to be in there, those dolls are everywhere and they give me the creeps.” He made a face. “It’s my turn to sleep in there tonight too. Dunno how much I’ll get with all those little eyes on me, un.”

Kisame groaned and flopped backwards onto the couch. He had forgotten he was on the couch tonight. The cabin only had two beds, and so the four of them (Zetsu slept outside) rotated nightly—bed, couch, or armchair and ottoman—and of the options the couch was arguably the worst.

“I’m so sick of this!” he burst out after a minute of staring at the ceiling. “What’s the point in keeping us cooped up? I’m 32 years old! We can take care of ourselves! It’s not like we’re all your age!”

Deidara narrowed his eyes. “I take offense to that.”

“I didn’t—I meant—” Kisame took a deep, shaky breath. His skin had become unbearably dry. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Hm.” Deidara turned indignantly back to his book.

Kisame ran a hand through his hair and stood. “I’ll be… elsewhere.”

The blonde didn’t give him another glance as he stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door.


	2. Yearning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what is driving my ambition to write this story while I have been neglecting my most popular one. If there are any Normality readers reading this too, I sincerely apologize, and have started chapter 20 tonight.
> 
> I do hope I'm making sense here. Kisame's inner turmoil is a little confusing to write...
> 
> I also hope they aren't too short.
> 
> Anyway. Thank you to baes Kayla and Gray, my muses.
> 
> Enjoy and comment! They really cheer me up!

The cold water was soothing.

Kisame cupped some in his large hands and held it to his left gills, sighing as they were hydrated.

Of course, sea water was preferable—his body was made for it, and fresh water made him dizzy and headachey—but it soothed the itch and kept him relatively normal, and he never wanted to show any sign of weakness around his teammates.

However, he was nearing his breaking point.

A month without a swim. He’d rarely gone two weeks without one. It was a stabilizer, a release, an instant mood-lifter. Afterwards his grins were broader and his slashes more brutal. As much as he hated to admit it (and he never would admit it to anyone), killing came second to a dip in the ocean.

He’d never tell anyone about this dependency, even to Itachi, and though they were an excellent team and got on very well they had never been terribly close; the former Leaf shinobi was incredibly distant and private.

 _Fuck, I just need a swim._ And at this thought he grimaced. _Weak._

He glared down at his hands. His skin was rough and pale like a hazy morning sky and yet he was considered human.

_But am I?_

Kisame had never known his biological parents. He was brought up by an older couple who found him in a Kirigakure orphanage. When he was a child, he entertained the idea that his mother was a shark and his father a human, but he deemed it impossible when he was older ( _Though I’d like to meet a man who has the balls to try and impregnate a shark_ ). He then considered that he was a freak accident or the result of a successful splicing experiment done by morbid scientists. Nevertheless, he had embraced his bizzare appearance at a young age. In school he had been mocked for it by his fellow students as kids were wont to do, so he had made his greatest weakness his greatest strength. His adoptive parents raised him acting as though his skin was the same pale peach as theirs, smooth and without gills, his eyes the same almond shape, his teeth the same squareness, and for that he’d loved them. When he was 17 they died of old age. He was devastated but it only hardened the shell he had put around himself. He was glad they hadn’t lived to hear of his first kill.

He was a beast and he knew it. He had even grown to like his uniqueness.

However this seclusion in the makeshift safehouse had given him a long time to ponder. He’d spent a lot of time staring at his hands and yearning for the sea and taking cold showers that left him nauseous. And all these things highlighted the differences between he and his fellow prisoners. He was subconsciously envious of their pale skin and handsome features.

He remembered what his father had said after he’d come home after being bullied for the first time— _“You’re no different than them, so there is no reason to be ashamed of how you look.”_

 _Bullshit. I_ am _different._

With a snarl he punched the wall before him, and his fist punctured the plastic and through the wall to the other side. He heard the smashing of glass as a frame fell to the floor.

Itachi rapped in warning against the unmarred wall and Deidara called, “How about you refrain from renovating, hmm? We all have to share that bathroom.”

“I slipped,” Kisame replied, the shower drowning out the strain in his voice. He’d been tempted to tell Deidara to fuck off, but he didn’t want to let on his frustration.

“Right.” The blonde didn’t sound convinced.

\--

Kisame emerged from the shower ten minutes later when the queasiness became too much and his left temple pulsed with a migraine.

He sat naked and dripping wet for a while against the cool wall next to the sink, his legs stretched out in front of him, allowing the water soak into his skin. He stared at his feet. He noted that the polish on two of his toes had chipped a little.

 _Great,_ he thought dully, _finally something to do._

But his bottle of plum varnish was stowed away in he and Itachi’s room, and he didn’t know when his exile would end.

He wasn’t even sure why Pein had insisted on painting their stupid nails in the first place. The colors didn’t even match their respective rings (though Kisame was happy about that; he’d much prefer dark purple over yellow). Kakuzu had once told him it was Itachi’s idea, and Deidara had theorized that both rings and paint were further symbols of their membership in the Akatsuki.

_As if the cloaks weren’t enough._

Kisame groaned as he stood. He stretched—touching his toes, cracking his knuckles, reaching towards the ceiling (his fingers brushed it as he did so) and bending his torso side to side—and allowed a small smile of satisfaction hearing the series of pops from his joints.

Outside in the living room he could hear quiet voices, one soft and boyish and the other more baritone and carrying. It seemed Sasori had finally left his room.

He towel-dried his navy hair and brushed through it with his fingers, tugging it up to its usual shape.

He examined himself in the ovular mirror. He had to stoop to fix his hair and see his entire face. The sight of it made thoughts from earlier resurface and he gritted his pointed teeth. The pallid blue of his skin, the strange shape of his eyes, the markings underneath… At least he had ears and a nose.

His finger traced the hard angles of his protruding cheekbones. None of the other members had such stark definition. Orochimaru’s thin visage had come close, but at least his looked human.

His muscular chest and arms were ridged with white scars from his cherished battles. They were one of his favorite things about how he looked.

The sink creaked as he gripped its sides and leaned forward. He stared himself down. It was one of those rare times where he was dissatisfied with what he saw in the mirror. This goddamn isolation with his thoughts away from the soothing embrace of the sea was making him think things he believed he had abandoned decades ago.

“Fucking cabin fever,” he muttered with a scowl.

He needed to get out.


	3. Hoping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, this one is a little longer than normal. But finally, some progress! 
> 
> I don't have much to say here. I'm crocheting, re-delving into anime after two years of barely watching it, yadda yadda. 
> 
> Oh! And my most recent addiction has become JoJo's Bizarre Adventure! Fuckin' great if you haven't read/watched it yet. I got an idea at the gym earlier for a Kakyoin/Jotaro story, so that might be written soon. And boyfriend and I are going to Anime Boston as Joseph and Lisa Lisa in March, so if you're going too, keep an eye out!
> 
> Lotsa love to y'all. Gimme some love back too, comments chase my lonliness away :c
> 
> Enjoy!

The next day was as quiet and dull as the days before.

Kisame found himself in the kitchen again at the table. It was raining, giving the usually sunlit room a steely, bluish feel. The window was open as far as it could be to let in the pattering of drops on puddles and cooling breezes that were crisp and fresh.

Before him sat a glass of water. He had finally found something new to amuse himself. Once in a while, an insect would slip through the window, seeking refuge from the deadly raindrops, and when they entered Kisame would take a swig from the glass and shoot a concentrated jet of water from between his teeth, blasting the bug from the air. They bounced off the window or wall and fell dead to the floor. The wood boards below were littered with an impressive amount of tiny cadavers.

The kitchen door opened and Itachi walked in. His hair was down, freshly brushed and damp from the shower. He surveyed Kisame and the mess he had made below the windowsill.

“Surely you can find a more productive pastime,” he said with a disapproving look. He filled the kettle and set it on the stove.

“No, I really can’t,” Kisame sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I need to kill _something._ ”

“What you need is some self-control.”

The ex-mist nin scowled but the corners of Itachi’s mouth lifted slightly in a smile.

“When do you think we’ll be able to leave?” asked Kisame.

Itachi shrugged. “I’d imagine it would be soon. We’ve been here an unusually long amount of time already. But I won’t pretend to know what our leader is thinking. He often does strange things without much explanation, you know that. All part of one plan or another. I expect we’ll get word from him any day now.”

“He’d better,” Kisame grumbled, rubbing his back. “One more night on that fucking couch and I’m deserting.”

“Hm,” hummed the other in amusement.

\--

Itachi’s prediction was correct.

Zetsu appeared in the late afternoon. The rain had stopped but the sun had not yet fought its way back through the clouds and the air became humid. The others were sweating and Deidara’s hair frizzed a little, but Kisame relished the moist air as it lessened the itch in his gills.

Kisame was sprawled across the sunken sofa reading _From Mammal to Meat: a Guide to Gutting_ when the plant-man rose from his personal door. Completely white today, his right side was the usual deformed mess left after splitting with his black counterpart.

“I come bearing food,” Zetsu announced, presenting the doe whose neck was clutched in his left fist.

“Great, the rabbits ran out this morning,” said Kisame, snapping his book shut and standing to help his one-armed comrade haul the carcass to the kitchen. “Where’s the rest of you?”

Zetsu’s natural sneer gained more feeling. “Kuro’s with Pein. He’s playing favorites, I’m sure. They’re off retrieving something, didn’t bother to tell me what. Just ordered me here to look after you kids.”

“Kids, huh? I thought you were made just ten years ago.”

They tugged the deer through the almost too-narrow doorway into the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. Deidara and Sasori were sitting at the table sharing a pot of tea.

The blonde wrinkled his nose. “Venison again? Can’t you bring us any normal food?”

“This _is_ normal,” Zetsu replied, and he leaned down and bit a large chunk out of the deer’s limp neck, hair and all. Deidara looked away in apparent disgust.

“Any word on when we can leave?” Sasori asked softly.

Zetsu swallowed before answering. A stream of blood stained his white chin crimson. “It’s hard to tell. Looks like there are several Kumo trackers looking for you four. Leader has decided all of them are a danger to us.”

Kisame gave an angry scoff. “What, so we’re all suddenly incapable of killing a few trackers? I’d wager that I could kill the lot of them myself! And sitting on our asses isn’t doing us any good. We’re goddamn fish in a barrel as long as we stay here.”

Zetsu raised his hands innocently. “Don’t stab the messenger, I’m just repeating what I’ve been told. They seem to have traps set all over the forest that will alert them immediately if triggered.”

“So now we can’t handle a few traps?”

“I’m not doubting your abilities, Kisame,” said Zetsu, his calm yellow gaze scanning the former mist-nin’s furious expression. “And neither, I think, is Pein. He just doesn’t want to risk losing anyone.”

Kisame’s brain was throbbing again.

Deidara sighed, standing and stretching. “Well, I, for one, welcome this break. It may be dull as hell, but I’ve been feeling a bit overworked lately, un.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kisame snarled.

“I just did,” the other replied with a lazy grin. “Call me when that thing”—he nodded at the doe—“is edible, hm? I’m almost done with my book.”

Kisame watched him stride from the room, still seething. How could Deidara, who is supposed to be a hardened criminal, possibly be okay with being cooped up and inactive? The others haven’t complained very much either. It made him feel even worse, like _he_ might be the irrational one.

He nearly jumped as a cool hand touched his shoulder. He looked up to see Zetsu wearing an attempt at a reassuring smile—though with the twisted half of his face permanently pulled up in a sneer, it unintentionally looked a little patronizing.

“You’ll be free soon,” he said.

“Everyone keeps saying that…” Kisame muttered to the table.

_Perceptive fucker. Everyone can tell I’m a mess._

And it just made him angrier.

“I doubt patience will be a virtue you’ll ever possess, Kisame,” Sasori sighed, getting up from his seat.

“Bite me.”

The corners of the puppeteer’s lips curled upwards slightly, and he turned and made his way out.

A small gust of wind squeezed its way through the window and Kisame’s gills twitched slightly as they caught the whiff of salt that had been carried in. He clenched his fists and burned imaginary holes into the wood below with a rageful stare.

“You alright?” There was a squeak of wood as Zetsu sat down on the chair across from him.

“Fine,” Kisame replied in a strained voice, not looking up.

“Yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

 _Damn right you haven’t._ Kisame had never been like _this_ before, not even before joining the Akatsuki. And he rarely saw Zetsu anyway.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Kisame clenched his teeth. “Fuck, you’re annoying.” But he found himself considering confiding in Zetsu. After all, the plant-man was just as much a freak as he, surely he of all people could understand, at least a little, also having a connection to nature as well.

Zetsu was smiling pleasantly back at him. _Fucker._

He cleared his throat. “Well… You know how I’m… sharkish?”

The other man looked him up and down with an expression of feigned shock. “No kidding? I hadn’t noticed.”

Kisame grumbled but continued. “Well… it extends past looks as well. I… _need_ to swim, and it’s been several weeks, and I just _need_ to get out.” Admitting this aloud felt both relieving and emasculating.

Zetsu tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Ahh, that explains your mood. Interesting.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Kisame muttered, looking away. “It’s not like you need to photosynthesize or whatever.”

Zetsu snorted. “No, I don’t _need_ to, but sometimes it’s nice.”

Kisame actually laughed. “No shit?”

“Hey, I like the sun. Too many days like this—” he jerked his head toward the window that displayed overcast skies—“and I get a bit gloomy, I guess.”

Kisame felt a little surge of gratefulness toward his comrade. “I’m glad you get it. Don’t tell the others, alright? You may lose some fingers if you do.”

“Well, I could just grow them back, but I suppose I’ll keep your secret. Why are you keeping it a secret though?”

Kisame grimaced. “It’s a weakness. They wouldn’t understand. I just… _need_ the sea.” The aching filled him again.

“Hmm…” Zetsu looked at the ceiling, crossing his single arm across his chest.. “I do hate to see a friend in pain. I’m sure your crabbiness isn’t helping the others either…”

Kisame narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”

After a moment, Zetsu returned his yellow eye to Kisame, a devilish smile curving his lips. “I’m saying… perhaps I could sneak you out.”


End file.
